No One Will Find Me When I Die
by Dameonification
Summary: France is done with living, and has nothing to live for. Real names are used, except for Russia's. This is a dark, sad story, but who knows, maybe I'll have a happy ending. Or the 2nd chapter will be the ending. I don't know yet.
1. Loneliness

__**Here's my more revised version of the first chapter! I wrote this chapter when I was pissed, but you know, I like the way this story is going. I really do. Gog, I'm so... Dark sometimes. Oh well. Hope you enjoy sad stories that may never have a happy ending (or will it?)!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Dear diary,<em>

_I'm pissed, and done with life. _

_Au revoir,_

_Francois Bonnefoy_

France closed his diary for the last time. He was really done with life. His mother raped him about 4, or 5 times a day, he was never fed, and he just, once again, lost someone dear to him. First, Russia had left for war, and never came back. Then his new found love, Celia, died in a car crash. He was just done with everything.

He had no more tears. He was completely emotionless. He had nothing else to live for. France grabbed a very large, very _sharp_ knife from the kitchen. He knew how he was going to kill himself. He was going to stab himself, in multiple places, then just bleed out until death comes to take him away.

France also knew where he wanted to die. He wanted to die in a sunflower field, somewhere he wouldn't be found. So, with the knife in hand, he left the house, and started walking to the one sunflower field he knew of. It was near a big vacant house. No one lived there, and everyone thought it was haunted. To France, the house was beautiful, and was kind of like a palace in his eyes.

Once he was at the outside edge of the field, he looked at the house for the last time of his life, then went to the very middle of all the sunflowers.

The Frenchman stripped his clothes off his body before sitting down to decide where he should stab himself first. He traced a few of his veins with the sharp knife, then made a swift, and deep, cut on his left wrist, right on the vein. He didn't feel any pain.

He, then, took the knife in his left hand. It was shaking a little, but that didn't matter. He made another swift cut on his right wrist, but it wasn't as deep as the cut on his left. That was okay, though. He was thankful that he was bleeding a lot, and he decided to _actually_ stab himself.

The bleeding blonde, and blue eyed man put both of his hands around the knife. He hoped that he had enough energy to stab himself at least two times. He rose the knife above his exposed stomach, and brought the knife down. He gasped, a little blood coming out of his mouth. His hands dropped from the knife handle. He wasn't able to pull it back out to bring it back down again. So he just laid there, slowly bleeding out. Slowly dying.


	2. Too Late

**I have decided to write another chapter to "No One Will Find Me When I Die"! I actually like this story even though it is sad, and dark. ****I may even write a third chapter to this. And as for my Gravitation fanfic... I should probably finish that, but I've lost motivation for it... I'll try to get back into that one. I make no promises though. Hopefully you'll enjoy this little story! **

* * *

><p>It had been about twenty years since Russia had left for war… He was finally back, and ready to face all that has changed with everyone he knew before he left. He has been hearing rumors that France has gone missing lately. Apparently, none of the allies have seen him at the meetings for the past couple months. No one has been able to get a hold of him at his house, by text, or by calling him. This made Russia worried. He knew his France, his lover, had some problems, as did he.<p>

The war between Russia and Poland lasted a lot longer than he would've liked. He hated being away from his sweet Frenchman. When he was away, he was always so worried that France may have fallen ill and died, or fell down some stairs and went into a coma… Anything is possible with France… That man will be totally fine one second, then the next second he's flipping out due to a bee sting. This worried Russia a little sometimes… France just seemed so fragile sometimes, like a rose. But there were those times where France was strong, and warrior-like… That was long ago, though. It was after the French revolution that France began losing sanity and becoming weaker. At least Russia was there for him the entire time. He vowed to stay by his sweet flower's side and protect him no matter what.

Russia stood outside the great palace he lived in with his lover. He observed around the outside of his living area. There was no life to be seen, except the beautiful fields of sunflowers. They barely withered while he was gone, France must have taken good care of them for him. This made Russia smile. Slowly, Russia turned the knob of the front door to the palace, and went inside.

Slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack, he made his way inside. There was still no signs of life. The big Russian started to panic. What happened to France? Where was he? These kind of thoughts filled his mind. With each thought, he got even more worried and scared for his Frenchman.

Deliberately, he began up the stairs, calling out France's name. There was no answer. France was simply not there in the house… At least, that's what the Russian hoped.  
>Russia searched the entire house, which took nearly two hours because of how many rooms, and how big the palace is. When he found nothing, he decided just to take a soothing shower to get his mind off of it. That didn't work. All he could think about was his beautiful blonde partner.<p>

After his shower, he got dressed in some comfy clothes, and went downstairs. He mind raced with thoughts of where France could have went. Was in at a bar? A café? His hometown? A dance hall? There were countless possibilities… Russia didn't know where to start.

Eventually, Russia fell asleep on the coach in the living room. While sleeping, he had a terrible nightmare: France was dead. His body was covered in deep, self-inflicted wounds. It was the worst of the worst, France killed himself. He bled himself out.

That was the worst nightmare Russia had ever had. He hoped it wouldn't become true. He had to find France. He needed to.


	3. The End

**Writing this last chapter of the story made me tear up so much... It's so intense... I'm sorry to those who don't like super sad stories...**

* * *

><p>Russia had been looking everywhere for his lover that morning… He checked all the cafes, all the dance halls, he tried calling France's cell phone, and he tried calling his house in Paris<strong>.<strong> Russia had found nothing. No trace of the Frenchman whatsoever. He began to panic even more due to this.

Eventually, Russia gave up and started to sob loudly in front of the palace. France was gone… He was never going to find him. Russia really could not take this. If he couldn't find France, then what was the point of living? The answer was, or at least in Russia's mind, there was no point at all.

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind. Russia shivered, and looked up. When he did so, he could not believe his eyes. France was standing right there in front of him. He sobbed, got up, and began to run to his lover. As he was running, France held up his hand in a 'stop' motion, and shook his head… Russia grew confused, what was his lover saying? Why did he stop him? That's when realization hit him. France was, in fact, dead. The figure before him was his ghost. He could see through it, it was transparent. Slowly, the Russian began to observe other features of his lover.

France looked ghostly, and sad. There were marks on his body Russia could barely make out… But by just seeing them, he knew what had happened. France had killed himself. Tears streamed down Russia's face. He blamed himself for this. He blamed himself for France's suicide. If only Russia had chosen to take out the overwhelming numbers in the Polish army instead of just waiting, and tiring them out… Russia would have been able to win easily. He didn't know it at the time, but he knew it now… If only he had done that, he would have his one true love in his arms, smiling, alive. But because of his stupid mistake, France was now dead, not smiling, and not in his arms.

Russia wanted to be with France desperately, and there was only one way he could be. That way was to kill himself. He slowly got up with France's dead eyes on him. He knew France wasn't going to stop him. He couldn't. He had no right to. He had done what Russia was about to do.

The Russian walked to the front doors of the palace, and went inside. A few minutes later a gun shot rang out from the top floor.

The End

* * *

><p><strong>You can go ahead and hate me now for killing both of them... But oh my gosh... It was so hard to write this chapter... I think I'll post a happy story at some point... I have one that I can type up, so no worries, there'll be happy stories from me, too! <strong>


End file.
